Poverty Has A Face

      Jane took me to her home today in the slums. She came to our house, and though I was tired and doing laundry, I dropped what I was doing. Dave and I left with her to see her home. We walked to the slums on the same path she walks to and from work every day.

      I have never liked going into the slums because I don't feel safe and it makes me uncomfortable. It is not the poverty that makes me uncomfortable, that just makes me sad, but the fact that everything about me separates me from them. I feel the most white when I'm in the slums. I feel like a rock star with everyone yelling at me, wanting to touch me, asking how I'm doing, or if I want their child. But on this day, with Jane, I felt at peace.

      This is our first time going to the slums on foot. It's risky so I quietly prayed and felt confident that we weren't alone.

      Jane's home is one room. Yes, one room. And for most American's, her one room is the same size as a master bathroom. She walks and pays for each bucket of water. She doesn't have a toilet and she washes herself at night in the little space outside between her house and the neighbor. She's lived in this home for five years now. The father of her son, who she lives with, says that he likes it there. Their home is safer than most in the slums.

      Yet again, I'm looking poverty right in the face, but it's not the issue of poverty I see. It's a human.

Published August 1, 2011

I tell you the truth
when you refused to help the least of these...
you were refusing
to help me